


Quiet

by shomaun_ho



Series: CC Prompts [4]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: (kind of), Anal Fingering, Humour, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prompt Fill, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Teasing, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shomaun_ho/pseuds/shomaun_ho
Summary: 'Shoma turned his gaze to the countertop beside them, where Yuzuru had left the bottle of lube, lid still popped open, and beside it he had deposited another object—matte black, curved, with three distinct, bulbous notches, each smooth and rounded and designed to rest perfectly against the parts of Shoma that are guaranteed to drive him out of his mind.He eyed it warily. On all counts, it was a very good purchase. Powerful, pocketsize, packed with twelve different vibration speeds and settings, and perhaps most important of all, practicallysilent.But that, as it turns out, was also the absolute worst quality it possessed.Because it was the miraculous quiet of the thing that first gave Yuzuru theidea.'**Prompt: vibrators under clothes please~





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> "The next one is going to be short," she said. "Gotta get through these cc prompts somehow, so lets do some smaller fics," she said. "This is just a bit of nonsense anyway it doesn't need to be too long," she said. 
> 
> Anyway, here is yet another CC prompt! I am having a lot of fun working on these, and it is giving me the motivation to keep writing, even when the block feels so heavy, so thank you to everybody who is sending them in! I hope you are pleased with the results <3

“I _really_ don’t know if this is a good idea.” 

Shoma gripped the rim of the sink, staring worriedly at his own reflection in the mirror—the Him in the mirror stared back, looking equally concerned, but decidedly less flustered than Shoma felt. It was somewhat of a blessing, given Yuzuru’s current _scheme_ , that the race of Shoma’s heart, his ragged, short breaths, and the low thrum of heat in his gut were not immediately obvious upon first glance.

If the mirror were just a little longer, and the sink a little lower, he isn’t so sure he’d be looking so innocuous. 

“It’ll be fine,” Yuzuru said. The warmth of his breath ghosted over the skin low on Shoma’s back, sending a little thrill up his spine. Shoma squeezed the rim of the sink harder. “People do this all the time.” 

Shoma looked over his shoulder at him, frowning. 

“I’ve never seen a single person do this, ever, in my life,” he said, and then, when Yuzuru opened his mouth to retaliate, he added, “ _outside_ of porn.” 

Yuzuru grinned up at him. 

“You’re just proving my point,” he said. He nudged Shoma’s legs a little further apart, and shuffled closer on his knees. His palm felt soft, gentle where it settled on Shoma’s hip; warm, and at any other time, it would be a comfort. Now, though, it served only as a reminder—that Yuzuru was full of very dumb, very dangerous ideas, and that Shoma was equally dumb for ever indulging him. 

“How?” 

“If you’ve never seen anybody do it, then you’ve just never seen anybody get _caught_.” 

Shoma shot him an exasperated look—the most exasperated one he could muster, with Yuzuru rubbing little circles against his hole with a lube-slick fingertip, coaxing the tight, tense muscle to relax. 

“You’re—ridiculous, you know that?” He grunted, gasping quietly when Yuzuru’s finger sank a little way into him. It was almost embarrassing how easily his body gave under Yuzuru’s attentions, how well he knew that gentle touch, so willingly opened up to it. Yuzuru pressed a smiling kiss to the bottom of Shoma’s back as he eased his finger in deeper. 

“What part of this is ridiculous?” 

Shoma turned his gaze to the countertop beside them, where Yuzuru had left the bottle of lube, lid still popped open, and beside it he had deposited another object—matte black, curved, with three distinct, bulbous notches, each smooth and rounded and designed to rest perfectly against the parts of Shoma that are guaranteed to drive him out of his mind. 

He eyed it warily. On all counts, it was a _very_ good purchase. Powerful, pocketsize, packed with twelve different vibration speeds and settings, and perhaps most important of all, practically _silent._

But that, as it turns out, was also the absolute worst quality it possessed. 

Because it was the miraculous quiet of the thing that first gave Yuzuru the _idea_. Awed, watching Shoma’s body shudder and shake, listening to him gasp and moan and whine, all of those feral little sounds coming unimpeded by the buzz or hum of vibration. 

“I can’t even _hear_ it,” he’d breathed, staring hungrily as Shoma twitched, spent, overstimulated by the thrum of the toy that had yet to cease, controlled by the remote in Yuzuru’s hands. And it was true—all Shoma could hear was the throb of blood pulsing in his ears and his own mindless whimpers, not the faintest hint of sound from the toy that was very much still working away inside him. 

Shoma blushed, remembering, and hung his head on a quiet moan as Yuzuru worked a second finger slowly into him.

"I just...don't know if it's one of your brighter ideas, is all," he said.

Yuzuru was very prone to fits of particularly stupid thought—more often than not, he _was_ careful. He formed his most important, most brilliant ideas slowly, over time, a foundation thought on which he built upon, adding and chipping away as needed, filing and fine-tuning until he had a plan he could put seamlessly into action. Weighing the pros and cons, assessing potential pitfalls, contingency plans—all thoroughly thought out. 

But sometimes....sometimes one single dumb suggestion would spring to mind, and there was absolutely nothing he could or _would_ do but give in to it.

This particular instance fell firmly into the latter category.

Yuzuru's lips pressed, pouted, against one of Shoma's ass cheeks. "Stop worrying," he said. "This is supposed to be _fun_. It's not gonna be fun at all if you're _stressed_."

"Oh, I'm _very_ sorry for being _concerned_ ," Shoma said, and yelped when Yuzuru's teeth nipped at him. "I just think it'd be pretty unfun, if someone noticed." 

Yuzuru tended to his bite with a little flick of his tongue. The next kiss he placed there was softer, longer. Soothing. 

"They won't notice," he said softly. "They can't hear it, it barely makes a _sound_."

Shoma shot the toy another nervous glance. It looked inoffensive enough, sitting innocently on the countertop, but he remembered well exactly how it felt. What it _did_. The memory made his knees weak, and his face obscenely hot.

He turned to look at Yuzuru over his shoulder instead.

"It's not the _toy_ I'm worried about."

For a second, Yuzuru stilled, his fingers buried to the last knuckle, and then he withdrew them slowly, and rolled his eyes up to look at Shoma, too. The little grin on his face was devilish, the glint in his eyes wicked.

"Then you'll just have to keep quiet, too. Or do you mean, hiding _that_? Because I told you, you can’t see a boner in a dance belt." 

"Shut _up_. Easy for you to say," Shoma said, punching out a breath as Yuzuru pushed a third finger into him. Impossibly slower, this time, easing in, but the stretch still burned a little more than before. "Too much."

"Sorry." Yuzuru laid his spare hand gently on Shoma's thigh, smoothing little circles into the skin with his thumb. He retreated, and continued with only two fingers, though he took more time to twist them, spread them, relax the tight, tense muscle until it gave for him. “Better?” 

“Mhm, thanks.” 

Yuzuru hummed happily in return. He curled his fingers, searching, until the very tips of them settled on something that made Shoma’s legs quake; he let out a soft moan, and pressed back, eager for more of what Yuzuru was offering. He felt Yuzuru grin against his skin. 

“Not yet,” he said. Shoma shot him another look, and his smile widened. “Unless you _want_ to get out there and immediately come in your—” 

“—Absolutely not. You’re not selling this idea well to me at all.” 

Yuzuru cocked a brow at him, tilting his head. 

“Funny,” he said, eyes darting away only for a moment, as he once again worked a third finger into Shoma’s opening, satisfied, this time, when Shoma gave no complaints, only a quiet hum of pleasure. “I don’t remember having any trouble persuading you before.” 

“That was—different,” Shoma huffed, face reddening. He glared at his own reflection in the mirror. He was no longer holding up _well_ ; what little composure he had presented in the beginning had since had fled, replaced by a deep, ruddy flush at the point of his jaw, down his neck, and lips chewed red to stifle his sounds as Yuzuru had toyed with him. “When you brought it up last time—that was unfair. I’d’ve said yes to just about anything.” 

He could remember vividly, just how vehemently he had _agreed_ to Yuzuru’s suggestion, with Yuzuru’s weight over his back and his lips brushing the shell of Shoma’s ear, such an obscene request sounding so sweet on his tongue. 

Yuzuru must have been remembering, too, for he gave a low moan, and the little chuckle that past his lips was utterly self-satisfied. 

“Yeah,” he said. And then he snorted, and added, in an obnoxiously haughty tone, “And everybody knows that whatever you say during sex is absolute. Legally binding. No take-backs.” 

“I could fart on you right now.” 

“You’re _disgusting_.” 

He pinched Shoma’s thigh, threatening, but when he spoke again, his tone was soft, and sincere. “Seriously, though. You know we don’t have to, right? Just because you said yes once doesn’t mean—” 

“—I know,” Shoma cut him off. “I know that.” 

Yuzuru dotted a few soft, closed kisses along the backs of Shoma’s thighs, over his ass, kneeling up to reach the small of his back. He hummed quietly against Shoma’s skin, and said, “We really don’t have to. I mean it—this is supposed to be fun. If it’s not fun, we won’t do it.” 

Shoma took a shuddering breath, eyes fluttering closed as Yuzuru trailed placating kisses over every inch of skin he could reach. His lips felt impossibly soft and warm, a familiar comfort, and Shoma took from it what he could, soothing the twitch of anxiety in his chest. 

“I want to,” he said quietly. “I— _really_ , really want to.” It felt oddly shameful, admitting it out loud, as though he were baring something particularly private—but Yuzuru has heard far more personal things from him. Perhaps it was because he had spent so much time poking fun at the idea and at Yuzuru for birthing it, that he felt almost ashamed to say that it ticked a box for him, too. 

“Yeah?” Yuzuru breathed quietly. His voice sounded shaky, too, a hint of a tremor billowing out against the bottom of Shoma’s back. He slid his fingers out slowly, pushed back in again, and Shoma gusted out a breath, knuckles bruising white as he grasped the edge of the sink tighter. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m just...there are gonna be a lot of people? I really don’t—want anyone to notice.” 

“They won’t,” Yuzuru said. There was no teasing in his tone now, only a gentle earnestness. “Look, I’m not gonna turn it on when you’re, like, mid-conversation, or during the speeches or the photos or anything. And I’m not gonna keep it on all the time. It’s just a little fun—now and then, when the opportunity comes up.” 

Shoma nodded and turned his head to look down at Yuzuru again, but didn’t speak. There was a definite buzz of excitement, warm and tight in his gut, and anticipation made his skin tingle, but he still felt nervous. Unsure. 

“And we can stop whenever. We’re in the hotel. If you wanna take it out, or if you’ve just...you know, had enough,” he gave Shoma a wry smile, “we can leave. Whenever you want.” 

Shoma watched him for a moment, then closed his eyes as Yuzuru spread his fingers, stretching him again. 

“Okay?” Yuzuru asked. It took more effort than it should have to open his eyes again, but when he did, he saw Yuzuru staring intently back at him. Waiting. 

“Okay.” 

Yuzuru smiled softly. It was a little thing, just one corner of his lip lifted almost imperceptibly, but the light in his eyes was so bright and so tender, it made something in Shoma’s chest clench painfully tight. 

He withdrew his fingers, and reached out a hand. “Pass it to me?” 

Shoma grabbed the little toy with shaking fingers. The smooth silicone felt warm to the touch, but so lifeless in his palm. He handed it to Yuzuru, who took it with a quiet thank you, and said, “and the lube?” 

Shoma passed that to him, too, and braced himself again on the sink. The toy wasn’t particularly long or girthy, but the shape was strange, and always felt a little odd when Yuzuru first slipped it into place. 

Shoma drew in a sharp breath when the bulb of it pressed against him. Yuzuru took his time, rubbing it in little circles, steadily applying more and more pressure—Shoma could feel himself opening readily for it, and sure enough, the first notch of it slipped in easily. Yuzuru followed a similar pattern to ease the next bulbous portion in, and Shoma gave a soft little croon when his hole gave a second time, closing tight beneath it, holding the toy in place. 

Yuzuru gave it a few pushes and wiggles, each one making Shoma jolt as the end of the toy nudged harder against his prostate, and then, when he was satisfied, he withdrew his hands and sat back on his heels. 

“How’s that?” He asked. Shoma straightened up slowly, feeling the little thing shift and settle. The pressure alone was enough to pull a small, slight moan from him. “Is it sitting right?” 

“Mhm, yeah.” 

_Oh, this is not a good idea_. He’d be lucky if he could keep quiet with the toy switched _off_. 

Yuzuru snatched the last item from the counter. Shoma watched the little controller disappear behind his back warily—once they left the room, and Yuzuru had that in his hand, Shoma would completely at his mercy. The prospect was as terrifying as it was utterly thrilling. 

Yuzuru’s hand settled again on Shoma’s hip. When he spoke, his voice wavered. “Wanna try it?” 

“You say that like we’ve never used it before,” Shoma said, voice embarrassingly strained. Yuzuru’s reflection appeared in the mirror beside Shoma’s, just a head, floating above the rim of the sink, an impish little smile in place. 

“Yeah, but this time, you have to keep quiet.” 

And with that, Yuzuru turned the toy on. 

Shoma barely managed to catch his moan as the toy buzzed to life. The initial sensation almost made his legs buckle—it was the lowest setting, and the slowest speed, but the end of the toy was sitting directly on his prostate, and every little hum sent a delicious shiver through him. He leaned forward and grabbed the edge of the sink again, lips pursed to hold back any stray little sounds, and breathed deeply through his nose.

Behind him, Yuzuru shifted. He stood, trailing his hands up to rest on Shoma’s waist as he did, and his mouth found the column of Shoma’s neck, mouthing at it gently. He kissed his way up to Shoma’s ear, and murmured, “Feels good?”

Shoma whimpered his yes, biting his lip. He didn’t dare open his mouth any further to speak for fear of what sounds might tumble out of him. He felt Yuzuru’s smile, and rolled up to see it reflected in the mirror. 

“You gonna give me some big-boy words?” Yuzuru teased. Shoma might’ve kicked him if his knees hadn’t felt so unsteady; instead, he shoved his weight back against Yuzuru’s body, pulling a grunt from him. Pressed to Yuzuru’s chest, Shoma tipped his head back to rest on Yuzuru’s shoulder, and allowed himself a moment—while he could—to enjoy the sensation. His mouth fell open, panting lightly, and his hips rolled aimlessly of their own accord. 

Yuzuru’s fingers tightened momentarily at Shoma’s waist. He pressed his mouth to Shoma’s cheek, near the hinge of his jaw, and said, “You definitely can’t do _that_ in public.” 

Shoma breathed out another moan, airy and quiet, stomach clenching as Yuzuru hit another button and the toy vibrated a little faster. It was a strange sensation, the toy nudged up against him, humming away—an indistinct kind of pleasure, the dizzying, full-body sensation before an orgasm takes hold, only no end came. He wanted to revel in it, stay here like this and let Yuzuru play with him until he was boneless, groan and croon and whine uninhibited by the presence of others. 

But then Yuzuru pressed another button, and the vibrations stopped completely. 

Shoma lifted his head groggily. The presence of the toy felt far less imposing, now that the motion had stopped, which he supposed was a very good thing. He took a few steadying breaths, then turned in Yuzuru’s grip, and pressed his face into Yuzuru’s neck. 

“This is gonna be hard,” he mumbled. Yuzuru kissed his brow, smiling, and burrowed his nose into Shoma’s hair. 

“Always time to back out,” he said. 

Shoma closed his eyes. He thought about the feel of the toy buzzing within him, the pressure there, thought about how it would feel to sit in a crowded room, surrounded by friends, other skaters, officials, each and every one of them blissfully unaware that Yuzuru was pulling him apart at the seams with the simple push of a button. Something low in his stomach tightened, grew hot. 

“No,” he said, turning his face to kiss at Yuzuru’s throat. “Legally binding. No take-backs.” 

Yuzuru’s laugh reverberated against Shoma’s lips. The low, soft sound of it warmed him, a heat pooling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the toy, or their impending plans. He tipped his face up, nuzzling at the underside of Yuzuru’s jaw, and Yuzuru welcomed him closer with a hand gently cupping his cheek. Shoma kissed his chin, and, when Yuzuru tilted his face down, kissed his lips, slow and tender. 

Yuzuru sighed out a contented breath, smiling curling both corners of his mouth. 

“Okay,” he murmured. He kissed Shoma once more—and once more, when Shoma chased him, and then one last time when Shoma caught Yuzuru’s retreating bottom lip between his teeth, and one last-last time, as Shoma licked temptingly into his mouth—and then he pulled away, and took a sobering step back. He turned Shoma around by the shoulders, and gave him a small push towards the bathroom door. “Go. Get dressed. I’ll meet you down there at seven?”

* * *

Banquets always made Shoma a little uneasy. The opportunity to relax and wind down after the stress and the pressure of a competition was most often offset by the general sense of discomfort Shoma felt, being trapped in a room full of too many people, many of whom wanted to talk with him regardless of whether Shoma could understand any of what they were saying or not.

Casual chatter, food he probably wouldn't like, more casual chatter, pictures—both those snapped by photographers accredited for the event, and those caught on many a phone camera—even more casual chatter, and a drink or two, simply for something to do to pass the time. Routine.

Bigger events like this, at least, were more palatable, for there were more skaters from Japan present. And more skaters from Japan meant a larger crowd into which Shoma could burrow and hide, make himself scarce when the food was done and the socialising commenced.

And the biggest of events—they included Yuzuru.

Usually, that was a blessing. They didn't meet throughout the season all that often, and even less so of late, with Yuzuru nursing a damaged ankle for the last two years. It made it all the merrier to spend an evening together outside the tension and strain of competing—at least, it _should_ have.

Shoma found himself sitting across the table from Yuzuru, this time, both dressed as smartly as they ever were—Shoma's suit a touch too big, Yuzuru's perpetually too short on the arms—and listening half-heartedly to the plethora of mundane monologues, most of which Shoma understood very little. Yuzuru, as always, did a far better job of looking like he was paying attention. Almost too well, looking too interested.

As hard as he tried to look like he, too, were focused on the lady at the microphone, Shoma's gaze kept drifting. Back across the table, to where Yuzuru sat.

So far, Yuzuru had kept good to his word. The little remote in his pocket remained untouched as the speeches wore on, and it sat forgotten as the food came out, as chatter bounced around the table, conversations passed from one end to the other and back again. He seemed as vibrant and giddy as ever, after a win, chatting animatedly, ignoring his food until it cooled and then wolfing down a few large bites at a time before he returned to talking again.

For his part, Shoma barely ate at all. He pushed the food around—picked at the meat, pointedly nudged the vegetables to the edge of his plate—and waved away the few concerned questions he got from Keiji and Kaori either side of him. The ball of nervous energy in his stomach took up too much room to allow for anything else.

The feeling of the toy sitting dormant within help felt almost _normal_ , by now. Sometimes, moving a certain way caused it to press more fully inside of him, or else shift the point of pressure elsewhere, but those were bearable motions, though they did on occasion make his breath catch dangerously in his throat.

By the time the dessert dishes were whisked away and the music started up, Shoma was beginning to feel a trickle of apprehension, combined with something almost shameful—static energy thrumming beneath his skin. Greedy, giddy anticipation.

He shifted impatiently in his seat.

Dancing, next, complete with boisterous music and an awful lot of obnoxious arm movements. Shoma stayed firmly where he was, as did a lot of the others on his table—Yuzuru, of course, was plucked from his chair almost immediately, and he acquiesced with a pleasant smile and a polite nod of his head. Shoma watched him, and Yuzuru shot him a quick glance as he passed, smile curling at the corners, twisting into something just a little more mischievous. Shoma's heart lurched into his throat.

But the buzz of the toy did not come. He braced for it, clamped his teeth shut should the first vibration drag any sound from him, and after a few moments of nothing at all, he turned to find Yuzuru surrounded by an intimidatingly large crowd, both his hands occupied hovering at shoulders and waists as skater after skater snapped their prized picture with him.

There was an odd, sinking feeling in Shoma's chest, watching Yuzuru—he hesitated to call it disappointment, but could find no other more appropriate name. He stared at Yuzuru with a building hunger, hoping for his gaze to rove this way, just once, to see that Shoma was alone and disengaged from the hum of conversation at the table, the object of nobody else's attentions—hoping for Yuzuru's hand to slip idly into his pocket, casual, unnoticed. One simple push of a button, and Yuzuru would have Shoma in the palm of his hand from halfway across the room.

He watched, and he hoped, but the moment did not come.

And soon enough, attentions turned to Shoma, too. He found himself caught in a small crowd of his own, rapid, thickly accented English coming at him too quickly to catch even a word or two, though people seemed happy enough for him to smile and nod and pretend that he had even an inkling of what was being said. Most of them wanted pictures, too, particularly the younger skaters, who were somewhat star struck by his presence, and the older ones who still cooed over his wide-eyed confusion.

He almost forgot about the toy, after a while. Yuzuru was long out of his sight, and he had tumbled headlong into more conversations than he could count, stared into more lenses than he could remember, laughed at jokes he prayed were jokes, nodded in hopes a yes would suffice, bowed to almost everybody in the room, silently asking for forgiveness for any faux pas he may have inadvertently made. 

It seemed very much like every other banquet. The routine remained unchanged by Yuzuru and the little remote in his pocket, and Shoma felt almost dismayed by it. They reconvened briefly for official pictures, herded in as a team, together with their officials and any other representatives, and Shoma wondered if perhaps Yuzuru would break his promise, then.

Whether he _wanted_ him to or not, Shoma wasn't entirely sure.

Still, the picture session came and went without a hitch. Shoma smiled awkwardly, wedged between Yuzuru and Satoko, and then smiled more earnestly, when Yuzuru slipped an arm around his back to tickle playfully at his side. He blushed under the slew of fond smiles—most of which were aimed at Yuzuru, everybody pleased simply by his presence, but some were a little more waggish, a little more _knowing_.

And before he knew it, they were back at the table, Shoma nursing his first and only drink of the evening, only now there were far more people piled around him. Chairs had been dragged from other tables, and he found himself surrounded—skaters from other countries had congregated there, settling with their drinks while the louder, more rowdy group occupied the small dance floor.

Yuzuru was sitting, too. He was once again across the table, thoroughly engrossed in a particularly loud and giggly conversation. Shoma had made peace with the fact that Yuzuru's idea simply might not be possible, not with the boundaries Shoma had agreed to—there were too many people, and they both were far too conspicuous to find all that much time alone, away from watchful eyes. He had made peace with _that_ , but he had at least hoped that they could spend some time there together, if nothing else.

He took another sip of his drink and refocused on Jason. He was talking excitedly about something Shoma couldn't hope to understand, and everybody around him was laughing—Shoma laughed too, and he was raising his glass to muffle his embarrassment with another mouthful of wine, when it happened. 

The stagnant little toy buzzed abruptly to life. Shoma yelped, and jolted, kneeing the underside of the table and pouring no small amount of wine into his lap as he did so.

Many pairs of eyes turned to him at once. Jason stopped mid-sentence, watching him curiously, and many of the listeners around the table looked at him, too. Keiji raised a brow, and Satoko frowned a little at him. He wanted to say something, to brush off their growing concern, but the end of the toy was sitting perfectly in place, humming away, and it was difficult to concentrate through the sudden onslaught of sensation, and of _horror_.

Yuzuru had promised he wouldn't. He had said he wouldn't use it, if Shoma were in an area too crowded, in a position too noticeable, and yet here he was. Shoma shot him a look over the table, only to find that Yuzuru wasn't even looking at him. He was still very much engrossed in his own conversation, exuberant as ever, hands flying to illustrate whatever point he was making, and—

Hands. Both of them. Raised in the space before him. Neither of them hidden beneath the table or in a pocket, neither of them holding the controller.

Shoma's stomach clenched. The vibration was ceaseless, a continuous whir against the most sensitive part of him, but the speed of it, the intensity, was low—manageable. He sucked in a breath, and fought to keep his expression neutral. This was bad—this was very, very bad. Either Yuzuru had somehow activated the controller without meaning to, or—and the thought made Shoma's gut squirm uncomfortably—somebody else had it. But no, Yuzuru wouldn’t be _that_ careless. 

"Hey, you good?"

He jolted again, and looked around, startled. Nathan was looking at him, expectant, a worried little frown creasing his brow. Shoma filtered the words through the growing fog in his brain, searched for a meaning—and when he found one, he nodded.

"Fine," he said. He winced at the wheeziness of it. He held up his glass and gestured helplessly between it, and his lap, and when no appropriate English came to mind, he turned to Jason and said, "just—spilled my drink. Sorry."

Shoma tuned out as Jason relayed the message, and a wave of quiet laughter rumbled around the table. He was vaguely aware of Jason diving back his story, and of the last few quizzical glances turning away, but for the most part, he was absorbed by the feeling of the little toy, and the beginnings of fear curling in his stomach.

The steady vibration thrummed through him. He strained his ears, but could hear nothing over the shapeless chatter—the toy truly was almost silent. Shoma felt both thankful and resentful for it.

He tapped his foot against the floor, nervous. He felt antsy, on edge, and the low pool of pleasure in his gut made him squirm where he sat. It was an agonising kind of limbo, sitting here, wishing he could lean into the feeling—sink down into the chair and grind onto the toy, apply more pressure, give in to the press of a moan in his throat—while also wishing so desperately that it would _stop_.

Hands trembling, he picked up his phone, and held it under the table top. The last thing he wanted was for Keiji, or Satoko, or Kaori to see the screen—see his message history with Yuzuru, or the message he was typing out to him now: _Yuzuru, turn it off_.

He hit send, and peered over the table, waiting.

But Yuzuru didn't even flinch. He gave no indication at all that the message had come through. Shoma sent a second— _Hey, Yuzuru. Turn it off—_ and then, when that didn't get his attention either, a third— _Stupid, check your phone_.

And a fourth, fifth, sixth: _Yuzuru. Yuzuru. Yuzuru_.

And then he tried calling. There was nothing he could say, if Yuzuru were to answer, and no way to talk without being noticed in the first place, but at least Yuzuru might see the messages, or else the look of growing frustration on Shoma's face.

Again, however, Yuzuru did nothing. His conversation continued on, and the drone of the toy continued on, and Shoma bit back a groan of irritation, shuffling where he sat.

He was simply going to have to wait it out. That was the conclusion Shoma came to, staring daggers at Yuzuru across the table. He was going to have to sit still and quiet, patient, until an opportunity presented itself—whether to grab Yuzuru's attention or to bolt from the room entirely, Shoma wasn't sure. Either would do.

It wasn't impossible. The murmur of the toy felt _good_ , but it was neither fast enough nor insistent enough to drive him wholly to distraction. He could manage, provided nobody coaxed him into an extended conversation. He would be _fine._

Or so he thought—that was, until Yuzuru shuffled in his chair, changed his position, and the speed of the buzzing doubled. 

He gave a loud, involuntary squeak, then masked it with a few coughs, blushing under another slew of questioning glances. The increased power of the toy made his head spin, and he could feel a twitch of response from his cock, the beginnings of a familiar warmth there, a hint of building pressure. He swallowed down a whine, thankful that he had taken Yuzuru's teasing suggestion to wear his dance belt—it would at least save him _some_ embarrassment.

He cast a furtive look around. Nobody was watching him—even those who, Shoma knew, had English comprehension about as poor as his own, were engaged in whatever Jason and Evgenia were discussing. It seemed heated, in a playful kind of way, and Shoma was sure he'd have been somewhat engrossed in it too, if he weren't so distracted by the heady thrum of the vibrator threatening to undo him.

Yuzuru paid him no mind at all. His attention was focused on the group around him—smaller than the gathering at Shoma's end of the table, but just as lively. And they were captivated by him, as most people were. All eyes on Yuzuru, smiles wide and bright, a familiar fondness in all of them, the same looks Shoma had seen during the team pictures: pure happiness, simply because Yuzuru was with them.

And Yuzuru drank it in like he always did. He absorbed the pleasant energy surrounding him and metabolised it, turned it into warmth and light that radiated from every part of him—his eyes, his smile, even his skin seemed to glow with it, preening beautifully under everyone's affection.

Any other time, and Shoma might've been content to watch it all unfold. To sit back and allow Yuzuru this space, give him time to drink his fill of it. Yuzuru thrived under attention. He didn't seek it, didn't demand it—but he needed it much like a plant needs sunlight, to energise and to flourish, and Shoma had never begrudged him for it before.

Right now, though, Shoma wished very much that the watchful crowd around Yuzuru would disperse, if only so that Yuzuru might look his way just once.

The pattern of the vibration changed without warning. Shoma jerked in his seat, and bit his tongue to curb a moan, this one weightier, sure to be loud even over the music and the constant flow of conversation if he failed to hold it back. The hum was no longer constant, instead coming in three short bursts, followed by one longer one, looping agonisingly over and over again. The quick, short rhythm made him twitch, and the drawn out buzzing made his gut tremble.

He glared over at Yuzuru, hopeful that Yuzuru might feel the intensity of Shoma's stare on the side of his _stupid_ head.

If he did, he ignored it. Instead, he leaned an elbow casually on the edge of the table, and propped his chin on his hand, eyes crinkling at something Han said, thoroughly unconcerned with Shoma's mounting discomfort. 

Shoma gave his edge of the table a hesitant nudge. Predictably, it didn't move at all. The wood was heavy and sturdy, and even with a little more force, the glasses atop it barely even wobbled. If he could move it even just a _little_ , enough to jostle Yuzuru, then maybe he would look up, and see the desperation that must be growing on Shoma's face by now.

The vibration was _torturous_. Pride, and the imminent fear of public humiliation and complete social exile, were about the only things keeping him from giving in to the sensation. He could feel the muscles in his face slackening, eyelids light, threatening to flutter closed if he let his concentration slip, and there was a pressure building at his hips and thighs, a near irresistible urge to roll into the press of the toy, feel it shift more solidly within him.

And the pattern changed again. Shoma gave another sudden lurch, and knees drawing up sharply and colliding with the underside of the table. He was almost thankfully for the loud _thunk_ on contact, and the tinkle and rattle of glasses as they swayed precariously on the table top, for the unexpected sound was enough—he hoped—to smother the tremulous moan that bled out of him.

Face hot, he snatched up his wine glass, drinking the last of it down in two large swallows. The intensity of the buzzing had stopped, and the pattern had shifted to rapid pulses with no reprieve—no lengthy pauses, no extended vibration—and it was all he could do to keep himself from groaning. 

He raised his eyes to look at Yuzuru again, and found Yuzuru looking back, head tilted curiously. But before he could make any attempt to communicate, somebody had tapped Yuzuru's shoulder, and he turned away again, immediately reabsorbed into conversation.

He sank low in his chair instead, barely holding back a whimper as the shift in position pressed every girthy bulb of the toy more solidly against him, the toy buzzing firmly in place.

The table wasn't overly long. Yuzuru wasn't an impossible distance from him. It would be easy enough, with a stretch, to give him a nudge under the table. Poke a toe into his shin as many times as it took to get his attention.

He sank down until he was barely even on the seat, anymore, then stretched out a leg, diligently ignoring the way the toy pulsed within him, chewing the inside of his lip until he tasted copper.

He felt around in Yuzuru's direction until his foot met a stray leg, and he gave it a quick, gentle jab with his toe. When Yuzuru didn't respond, he shoved a little harder, and when Yuzuru _still_ did nothing, said nothing, he levelled a hard kick, and Jin Yang gave a sharp cry of pain.

Shoma withdrew his leg quickly.

Yuzuru must have shifted again, sat on the controller again. Shoma lay his head against the backrest of the chair, and his eyes drifted closed, willpower ebbing slowly away.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Shoma turned somewhat dazedly to look at Keiji. Fortunately, he was the only person who seemed to be taking any notice of Shoma at all, but he was giving him a rather odd look, caught somewhere between confusion and concern.

Slowly, Shoma drew himself up in the seat again. The pattern had not changed, but the power had doubled again, reverberating so intensely now that Shoma was sure he'd be able to hear it, tremulous in his tone if he were to speak.

"Nothing," he said, voice breathy. "Stretching. Kinda tired." He gave Keiji a weak, unconvincing smile, wincing as he settled awkwardly into the seat. He shifted his weight onto one side, taking a little of the pressure off the base of the toy, and sighing with relief when it shifted, easing off his thoroughly abused prostate.

"...Okay," Keiji said. "You know you can leave, right?"

"Mhm." He hummed, high and tight. Sure, he _could_ leave, and how badly he _wanted_ to—the problem was, Shoma wasn't sure if his legs would carry him. He knees felt weak, and his thighs were shaking.

Across the table, Yuzuru gave a high, raucous laugh, and the setting changed again, vibrating at a constant, feverish rate. Shoma banged his elbow to the table top and balled his hand into a fist, pressing his mouth to his knuckles and fighting the impulse to bite—something, _anything_ , to distract himself. 

He tried to cover the sudden, bizarre motion by coughing into his fist. Keiji reached for a glass of water, and handed it to him, almost warily. Shoma drained the glass quickly, squeezing his eyes closed and willing Yuzuru to sit on the damn _off_ button. 

"Dude, you're being weird,” Keiji said. 

"Am I?" Shoma squeaked. He gave Keiji what he hoped was a politely puzzled look, though he doubted the warmth in his cheeks and the shallowness of his breathing were completely innocent.

"Uh, yeah," Keiji said. "What's wrong with you?"

Shoma opened his mouth to say _nothing_ , but a particularly pinpointed vibration made him squirm in place, barely muffling another moan.

"What, you got gas?" Keiji asked, brazen. Shoma shot him a withering look, then closed his eyes, taking a measured breath.

"No. Told you, I'm tired."

"Go sleep?"

Shoma hummed. Yuzuru gave an exuberant laugh from across the table.

"Looking forward to it," Shoma said, teeth clenched. Keiji raised a brow at him.

"That's nothing unusual," he scoffed. Shoma's eyes darted involuntarily to Yuzuru, and then back again.

"I know," he said loudly. And then, louder still, "I'm just, _really_ excited. _Buzzing_. You know?"

"...Buzzing," Keiji repeated. He blinked slowly, trying to comprehend Shoma's abnormal behaviour.

"Yup," Shoma said. The toy whirred away, and something low in his stomach wound tight, a familiar heat building. He slapped a palm down on the table to distract himself, and Keiji flinched, startled. He cleared his throat with frankly obnoxious volume, and said, "Buzzing."

"Why don't you just go—"

" _Vibrating_ with excitement." He shot Yuzuru a desperate, pointed look as he said it, and then looked quickly back at Keiji, smiling tightly. The constant thrum of the toy was driving him to madness, and still Yuzuru didn't seem to notice at all.

It was too much. The pressure, the constant battering of sensation, the heat swelling in his gut—tightness in the small of his back, like a spring, squeezed to its limit, desperate to spring free.

He stood up quickly. He tried to mumble a hurried _good night_ to Keiji, but it took every ounce of concentration he had left to hold himself together, to lift one leg after another and stumble away from the table. The toy moved as he walked, a seesaw of pressure, release, pressure, release, and the effect made him quake. He ignored the voices that called to him, half-bowing, half-waving, and made a beeline for the door on legs that felt feeble as water.

Ironically enough, it was only as he was leaving that he caught a glimpse of Yuzuru's eyes, finally looking his way.

There were skaters milling around in the corridor outside the banquet hall, too. Shoma kept his head low, eyes trained on the ground. He was not going to succumb to the feeling _here_ , not where everyone could see him. That was never part of the plan—none of this was part of the plan, and Shoma was going to throttle Yuzuru for ever even suggesting it, once he was through beating himself up for agreeing. For thinking it might be fun. For _wanting_ it.

He rounded one corner, then another, until found an empty stretch of corridor to tumble into. He had no idea where, in the hotel, he had ended up, but he didn't much care—it was silent, and unoccupied, and Shoma pressed his forehead to the wall and squeezed his eyes closed, sucking in a wet, gasping breath, hips rolling involuntarily to the pulse of the treacherous little toy.

 _God_ , it felt _good_. His body thrummed with it, toe-curling pleasure simmering in his stomach, building, waiting to break, and Shoma was ready to give in to it, here. Alone. Away from prying eyes.

His mind wandered guiltily back to the banquet, and his gut squirmed with a thoroughly indecent kind of pleasure. He had done that—he had sat there, surrounded by people, by friends, competitors, teased to the point of breaking, and not one of them knew about it.

What if he hadn't left? What if he'd stayed, kept still and quiet, held on the edge for as long as he dared? What if Yuzuru had known—if Yuzuru had watched him, eyes boring into him, seeing him tremble to pieces not five feet away and knowing, without so much as a single touch, that he was the cause.

Shoma allowed himself a small moan, and ground his hips forward, pressing his cock into the tight fit of his dance belt, straining beneath the fabric. The toy hummed away, silent as ever, and Shoma finally let himself tune into the rhythm of it. It had changed again, this time to a continuous buzz, though the intensity fluctuated like a wave, gradually building up to a peak before receding again. And every crest of it brought him closer, every retreat made him whine, needy for more, now that he could be.

Footsteps. Shoma's eyes flew open, and he turned in time to see Yuzuru come to a halt at the end of the corridor. Breathless, wide-eyed, he saw Shoma and strode towards him, face crumbled in something like concern.

"Are you okay? You looked—"

Shoma turned into him the moment Yuzuru had come close enough. He gripped the lapel of his jacket, and staggered to press his forehead into Yuzuru's chest, nudging one leg deliberately between Yuzuru's legs and riding the firm thigh that pressed against his own cock. Yuzuru gave a strangled gasp, hand pressing instinctively to the small of Shoma's back.

"Yuzu—" he choked. He raised his head from Yuzuru's chest to bury against his neck, instead, nose pressing against the line of Yuzuru's throat, mouth settled on his collar. He huffed out a few quick uneven breaths, hips rocking clumsily back and forth, torn between chasing the buzzing toy, or grinding solidly against Yuzuru's leg.

Yuzuru groaned quietly, when Shoma's lips brushed the dip of his throat. He brought his spare hand up to the back of Shoma's head, tunnelling into the hair there and cradling him close. Shoma took a deep, tremulous breath—inhaled the smell of Yuzuru's skin, warm and fresh and familiar. Yuzuru's hand pressed more solidly to his back, guiding the roll of his hips into something more rhythmic. Shoma gave a desperate moan as the toy reached its lowest intensity, and built up once more. 

And this time, when the wave of the vibration peaked, Shoma did too. Stilling, pressed bodily against Yuzuru's front, and then shuddering almost violently as he came. 

It seemed endless. Shoma felt lost in it; the only sure thing was Yuzuru, his palm on Shoma's back, the thrum of his heart beating in his chest, his uneven breaths puffing out against Shoma's forehead, ruffling his hair. The toy was ceaseless, merciless, carrying him through wave after wave of pleasure, each more muted than the last, until the sensation become almost painful. 

Too sensitive. Too much. 

"Sho, what just—"

"Turn it off.” He whispered. “Turn it off, turn it off turn it _off_." 

“What?” 

“The toy—turn it off.” 

When Yuzuru said nothing, Shoma looked up at him, eyes almost watering at the assault on his overstimulated prostate. Yuzuru looked at him, puzzled, then cast a surreptitious glance around them, and reached quickly into his pocket to pull out the controller. The tiny blue _on_ light glowed incriminatingly back at him, and his eyes bulged, staring down at it. He looked from the controller to Shoma and back again, and then he said, voice barely more than a guilty little whisper, "I think I sat on it."

“ _Please_ , Yuzuru,” Shoma gasped. 

Yuzuru's mouth fell into a little _o_ , and he fumbled with the controller, jamming a finger on the on/off button and holding until the light flashed, and deadened. Shoma sagged against him.

For a moment, everything was silent. Shoma's breathed quietly into Yuzuru's neck, calming slowly. He felt _drained_ , exhausted, body aching from holding so much tension throughout the banquet, muscles airy and shaking and useless after release.

Yuzuru said nothing. He held Shoma close to him, bore the weight of him, and Shoma could feel the rigidity in every part of Yuzuru's lean frame—stiff from head to toe. Shoma tucked his face into the side of Yuzuru's neck, and let out a long, controlled breath.

" _I think I sat on it,_ " he mocked, and Yuzuru gave a despairing kind of wail.

"I'm so sorry," he said. And Shoma could hear it in his tone, the guilt there, almost choking him. "I'm so, so sorry, oh my god."

Shoma couldn't help the little snicker of laughter. He slipped his hands beneath Yuzuru's jacket and looped his arms lazily around his waist.

"Shoma, I—how _long_ has that been—"

"A while," Shoma said. He shrugged a shoulder. "I tried to tell you."

"Huh?"

"Check your phone."

Yuzuru's hand left Shoma's hair to fish into another pocket. Shoma nuzzled his face deeper into Yuzuru's neck, and felt the hitch in his breath when he unlocked the phone, saw the messages Shoma had sent him almost an hour ago.

"Shit. _Shit_."

Shoma brushed his lips softly over Yuzuru's neck. He felt thankful, knowing with certainty that it was an accident, that Yuzuru hadn't broken his promise—that was all he needed to know. That his trust had not been betrayed. Accidents happened, and really, nothing _bad_ had come from it; if anything, Shoma had, in the end, enjoyed himself more than he had anticipated. He felt an odd kind of giddiness, the fuzz of adrenaline.

But Yuzuru's guilt was palpable. 

Shoma could feel it in the way Yuzuru's breaths shivered out of him, and in the strain of him, muscles taut and tense. He could feel it in the way Yuzuru held him, the tenderness of his touch as he skimmed the bottom of Shoma's back, carded his hand back up into Shoma's hair, a whispered apology on every fingertip. And he could hear it, in the tremor of Yuzuru's voice when he spoke, the earnestness of the words he murmured into the top of Shoma's head.

"I—I didn't mean to. I had no idea, I wouldn't have—"

"I know," Shoma said quietly. He pressed his hands to Yuzuru's back, too, held him a little closer. "I know. It's fine."

"It's not fine," Yuzuru said. "I promised you I wouldn't—not when there were so many people. And I did anyway."

"Yuzu," Shoma said, gentle, but firm. "It's _fine_. Really."

Yuzuru made another distressed little sound, and tucked his face into Shoma's hair. Shoma felt him rain kisses there. He sighed, and allowed Yuzuru to plead unnecessary forgiveness with his soft touches, reassuring now and then that it really was okay; no harm done. And when Yuzuru continued to sound desolate, he said, face growing warm, "I didn't exactly _hate_ it, Yuzu."

Yuzuru lifted his face, and rested his chin atop Shoma's crown instead.

"That's not the point," he moped. "It's not what we agreed to."

Shoma pulled back to look at him. Yuzuru really did look miserable; lips drawn down a little at the corners, brow creased, eyes wide and puppyish. Shoma stretched up on his toes and kissed the corner of Yuzuru's mouth.

"I know," he said. "But it was an accident. It's not like you knew."

Yuzuru's face pulled into an even more exaggerated frown.

"We're using a safe word next time."

Shoma cocked a brow at him.

"Next time?" he said.

"Any time," Yuzuru said. "We should have one."

"Yeah?" Shoma said, "you got more bright ideas?" He grinned when Yuzuru poked his tongue out, rankled.

"No," he said. "I just don't want anything like that to happen again, is all."

Shoma wrinkled his face at Yuzuru.

"I was trying _not_ to draw attention to myself. You think nobody would have noticed me yelling _pineapple_ across the table at you?"

Yuzuru pinched at his hip. Shoma wriggled, and gasped, when the bulb of the toy pressed against his still sensitive prostate. Yuzuru winced.

"Sorry."

"It's fine," Shoma wheezed. "But can we go? I wanna take this out. And these—" he gestured vaguely to the crotch of his pants, "—off."

“Mm, yeah.” 

Shoma moved to take a step back, but Yuzuru’s hands found his hips, and pulled him gently closer again. Shoma gave him a questioning look, tilting his head and blinking owlishly, but he allowed Yuzuru to draw him all the way in again, until he could feel the length of Yuzuru’s body pressing softly against his own. 

Yuzuru leaned down, and nudged his nose against Shoma’s. Careful, tender, he brushed his lips over Shoma’s—featherlight, not enough. Shoma tilted his chin, and Yuzuru kissed him, though it was still slight, the barest of pressure. 

“Yuzu,” Shoma breathed. Yuzuru knocked his brow to Shoma’s, and sighed out a weak, quavering breath. 

“I really am sorry,” he murmured. The softness, tenderness of his voice, made something big and warm and airy fill his chest, expanding endlessly, a fondness so all-consuming that it took the breath from his lungs—his head spun with it, but the feeling was so light, so wonderfully carefree, that Shoma thought he mightn’t even _need_ to breathe, if he could just have this. 

_Stupid_ , he thought, stretching up on his toes to kiss Yuzuru’s lips softly. _Idiot_.

“It really is fine,” he whispered back. His lips caught on Yuzuru’s as he spoke, and he could feel the small smile there, where Yuzuru’s mouth turned up catlike at the corners. He pressed closer still, and Yuzuru coaxed him with an open palm on his back, easing him in. He curled one arm around Yuzuru’s waist, and brought the other up, laying it tentatively on Yuzuru’s cheek. The soft, homely sound Yuzuru made was almost more than Shoma could bear. 

They kissed in the corridor for entirely too long. Shoma felt drunk from it, by the time Yuzuru pulled away—too dizzy to chase him for more. 

“C’mon,” Yuzuru said, turning him gently by the shoulders and nudging him forward. Shoma’s brain whirled back, to the memory of Yuzuru shuffling him out of the hotel bathroom hours prior. A small, private smile played on Shoma’s lips. 

It felt oddly fitting that Yuzuru should bring him back the same way. 

* * *

In the safety of the elevator, Yuzuru snaked a hand around Shoma's waist, pulling him back against his front and notching his chin over Shoma's shoulder.

"Keiji was definitely looking at you funny when you left."

Shoma groaned, remembering his final, futile attempts at garnering Yuzuru's attention before fleeing the banquet. He neglected to tell Yuzuru that part, for fear of sending him into another guilty spiral, but his embarrassment must have shown on his face, for Yuzuru snickered, and kissed at his warm cheek.

"You gonna be able to look him in the eye at breakfast tomorrow?"

" _Ugh,_ " Shoma moaned, tipping his head back onto Yuzuru's shoulder, and shaking it petulantly. " _Pineapple_." 

Yuzuru’s barked laughter echoed around the elevator. Shoma turned his head to look at him; he took in the way Yuzuru had thrown his head back, the crinkle of his eyes, the wide, beautiful smile pulling at his beautiful lips—light, beaming from his every pore. 

Shoma craned his neck to kiss the underside of Yuzuru’s jaw. 

Perhaps, he thought, body pleasantly tired, chest pleasantly warm, Yuzuru’s ebbing laughter reverberating softly against his back—perhaps the whole thing hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all.

**Author's Note:**

> For more dumb fic content, you can follow me on twitter @ [shomaun_ho](https://twitter.com/Shomaun_ho), and you can send me more prompts/ideas over on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/Shomaun_ho)
> 
> And if you're shy commenting on smut but would like to give me some feedback, my cc is always open! And I finally adjusted my twitter settings so that I can recieve messages from people I don't follow (oops), so you can reach me there, too :D


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